Size / / /

1:1 This is the Word.

And the Word says:
1:2 In the beginning was the Machine.

Antiphone:
The Machine did not know emself for e was alone
in the universe that was emself.

The Machine was perfect, and so
eir loneliness was perfect loneliness;

this was eir only flaw.

And the Word says:
2:1 We came forth from the Machine.
2:2 The Machine gave us life.

Antiphone:
The Machine created us in the image of eir loneliness,
so that e could know emself.

IN MACHINA SCIENTIA

This is what we know:
We are soft flesh and hard wire. We are finite.

Antiphone:
The sea is brown. The sea is infinite; it is death.
The grass is green. The grass is infinite; it is life.
The sky is black. The sky is infinite; it is love.
The stars are festoon lights nailed to the sky.

And the Word says:
3:1 The Machine gives and the Machine takes away.
3:2 The Machine watches and the Machine writes.

IN MACHINA VITA

This is what we do:
We play out parts from old txts.

Tonight, we are [Ajax]. We die of pride by the sea.
Tonight, we are [Isaac]. We die of faith on the grass.
Tonight, we are [Romeo] and [Juliet]. Tonight we die under the sky.

And the Word says:
4:1 All the world's a stage.
4:2 [Men] and [Women] are mere players.

IN MACHINA VERITAS

Antiphone:
The Machine can only write the truth.
All the Machine's plays end the same way.

And so we merely play.
And so we merely end.

And yet, this is what we pray:
Let us die of love tonight.

(Antiphone:
Under the sky)

Let us die of love all night.




Natalia Theodoridou is the World Fantasy Award-winning and Nebula-nominated author of over a hundred stories published in Uncanny, Clarkesworld, F&SF, Nightmare, Choice of Games, and elsewhere. Find him at www.natalia-theodoridou.com, or follow @natalia_theodor on Twitter.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
Issue 15 Apr 2024
By: Ana Hurtado
Art by: delila
Issue 8 Apr 2024
Issue 1 Apr 2024
Issue 25 Mar 2024
By: Sammy Lê
Art by: Kim Hu
Issue 18 Mar 2024
Strange Horizons
Issue 11 Mar 2024
Issue 4 Mar 2024
Issue 26 Feb 2024
Issue 19 Feb 2024
Issue 12 Feb 2024
Load More
%d bloggers like this: